In Nonzero: The Logic of Human Destiny,
Robert Wright, whose earlier work includes Three Scientists and Their Gods
and The Moral Animal, proposes to explain history by using game theory
as formulated by John von Neumann and Oskar Morgenstern in the middle of
the twentieth century. Game theory distinguishes between "zero-sum"
games where the players compete against one another and there are winners and
losers, and "non-zero-sum" games where the players' interests overlap.
This overlap of interest creates a situation where competition is subsumed by
cooperation. Wright's thesis is that the history of life, including humans and
all other organisms, evidences an increase in complexity, and that this
complexity can be attributed to the proliferation of "ever larger, and ever
more elaborate non-zero sum games" (p. 6). He is not talking about how life
began. He is arguing that once it began, game theory, because it is a vehicle
for evaluating competition and cooperation, can explain the emergence of
"larger and richer webs of interdependence," (p. 6) that is "the
accumulation of 'non-zero-sumness'" (p. 7).

Two ideas are basic to his thesis. The
first is that non-zero-sumness exists as potential and that its potential is
unlocked through competitive zero-sum games. The second is the idea that

organic evolution and human history ...
constitute a single story, ... that the two processes have common dynamics ...;
[that] at some basic level, cultural evolution and biological evolution have
the same machinery, ... the same fuel; the energetic interplay between zero-
sum and non-zero-sum forces ... [and that] the two process have parallel
directions--long- run growth in non-zero-sumness, and thus in the depth and
scope of complexity" (p. 243).

There is also a third concept, not so
central as the first two, but important to the way Wright develops his argument:
the belief that human beings everywhere "are genetically endowed with the
same mental equipment, that there is a universal human nature ... [a] psychic
unity of humankind" (p. 19), and that this unity explains why cultural
evolution tends to move in the same direction across the world, though it occurs
at different rates. It also explains why the modern world was all but
inevitable. This basic unity is revealed through universal feelings like greed,
hatred, generosity, gratitude, obligation, empathy, and trust. We express it in
our moral indignation, or in our sense of just grievance occasioned by things
like laziness, stinginess, and cheating. We discern it in our innate curiosity,
in our tendency to develop social hierarchies, in our predisposition to be
competitive and status hungry, and in our universal propensity to build things,
a proclivity Wright believes is tucked away in our DNA. Taken together such a
universal genetic heritage means that "people are good at finding zones of
mutual self-interest and striking deals of mutual obligation" (p. 114),
despite our not being designed to live in close proximity to many of our own
kind.

In opposition to evolutionists like
Stephen Gould to whom he often refers, Wright thinks that humans are not chance
products of a process dominated by randomness, but were destined and have a
destiny. Therefore, he has subtitled Nonzero, "The Logic of Human
Destiny," and in its pages he seeks not only to describe how we got where
we are, but also to predict where we might be going. Of course such predictions
are not detailed. Rather they are extrapolations of his conviction that both
past and future are contained in the present, that as yesterday lives in today,
so tomorrow lives in them both. For Wright, randomness, if it is to have any
effect beyond itself, needs order, and order, if it is to transcend mere stasis,
needs randomness. Randomness and order braided together are creative. Thus
Wright does not want to argue that the world in which we find ourselves was
"literally inevitable." He believes it was highly likely.

As Wright describes it, life is a machine
that generates and deepens meaning, and creates and fulfills the potential for
good (p. 331). Thus, for Wright, history has seen moral progress but not
inevitable moral progress. Material prosperity has made it easier for people to
acknowledge the humanity of others. Humankind seems to be moving away from
tyranny and toward freedom. However, there is no guarantee that good will
prevail. Evil in the form of tribalism combined with "the growing power,
compactness, and accessibility of lethal technologies" (p. 231) could
triumph. Wright believes that in a sense the fundamentalists are correct. We
have reached a pivotal juncture in the destiny of the world. Our age is
justifiably obsessed with eschatology.

Having said all this, it might be helpful
to integrate Wright's theme within its philosophical tradition. There is a
millennia-old argument over whether human history is distinct from or an aspect
of natural history. Can human history be reduced to a set of laws that, if
known, would render it predictable? Or are humans uniquely free, and in the end
does that uniqueness make their history unpredictable? The first position can be
traced to Herodotus (484-425 BC), the second position to Homer (eighth century
BC). Herodotus, as he described and catalogued cultures, sought evidence of
unifying themes that would not only render cultures mutually comprehensible but
would fix them firmly in the natural order. For this reason, he is known as
"the father of history." But history as a natural process is not the
only possibility. A view of history as a heroic endeavor also has its champions,
one of the earliest of whom was Homer. Homer envisioned history as the creation
of heroes who through fortitude changed the course of events. Because events
were ultimately at the command of individuals, there was nothing inevitable
about human history. It would always be quintessentially idiosyncratic.

Wright is firmly in Herodotus's camp.
Indeed, at one point he says:

Far be it from me to minimize
mathematics--or science or technology. But we should certainly minimize the
importance of any one person in these fields, because all three are on
autopilot. The bent for innovation is so deeply human that progress doesn't
depend on anyone in particular (p. 119).

Of course history is more than scientific
discovery and technological progress, but those endeavors tend to inform much of
Wright's analysis, which means that there is a certain Marxist quality to the
book, a tendency to reduce people to Homo economicus. Indeed, Wright,
though he does criticize Marx on occasion, generally has positive things to say
about him.

Historically Christians have taken an
intermediate position in the debate over history as a natural process or history
as the interplay of persons. Via the logos doctrine, Christians have
affirmed that the God who created the world presides over both the processes of
the world and the lives of his creatures, so in that sense natural and human
history share much with one another: they are created, sustained, and guided by
God. However, Christians also have affirmed that the logos is not a
rational or natural principle or set of principles but is a person, and that as
such the logos is engaged in a personal relationship with his world and
his creatures. In that sense, human history is much as Homer imagined it: the
interplay of separate personal wills. Therefore, Christians can affirm with
Wright that there is human destiny but we would insist that it is not as
impersonal as he imagines it to be.

Wright's overall thesis then is hardly
new. What is new (as least so far as I know) is his use of game theory to
explain variety in biology and culture. To ask if Wright is convincing at this
point is to ask the wrong question. It is better to ask if Wright's thesis is
plausible. On one level the answer is yes. The idea that competition results in
cooperation has appeal, and, with selected examples, we can certainly illustrate
that development. But, as Emil Cioran once observed, history, because it
contains everything, proves nothing. Thus on another level the answer is a
qualified no. This qualified no is not just because other examples support the
counter idea that competition, rather than fostering cooperation, causes
coalitions to break down. It is because variety in biology and culture has been
explained so many times in other ways.

It seems plain to me that there is a
certain direction to history, that things, though they endure, are not as they
were, and that a particular technological complexity plays a significant role in
accounting for that. However, it is less obvious that human history and natural
history are really powered by the same basic dynamic. Nor is it obvious that
game theory would be the best way to account for that shared direction. It may
be that humans have learned to cooperate, but why should we believe that in
doing so we are simply following principles expressed eons ago by slime mold?
Were that all there was to it, why should we have to learn to cooperate? After
all, we do not have to learn to fall.

Wright addresses this objection in a very
arresting way via teleology. To justify his assertion that history, whether
natural or human, is teleological, Wright adopts Richard Braithwaite's
definition of teleology: "persistence towards the [hypothesized] goal under
varying conditions" (p. 312), but modifies it by adding the caveat that the
adjustments must reflect the activity of information processors. Then he
nominates genes (and by implication memes) for the role. Organic evolution and
cultural evolution are to be distinguished from a falling object or the flow of
a river because organic evolution and cultural evolution derive their
directedness from the activity of information processors (genes or memes) while
that which falls or flows simply passively obeys the law of gravity and follows
the path of least resistance.

Modifying Braithwaite's definition as he
does enables Wright to differentiate the directedness he sees in life and
culture from the directedness evidenced in phenomena like falling or flowing. At
the same time, it enables him to embrace Dawkins' terminology and convert it
into an argument for design. Living organisms are precisely what they appear to
be. They look as if they are designed because they were. They appear to have a
teleological dimension because they do. Evolution itself is a teleological
process, and hence it has not only expressed that reality in the obvious design
of living creatures, but eventually was able to lift information processors like
genes to the level of information processors like brains--brains that allow for
far greater flexibility, far more rapid responsiveness, and far greater adaptive
complexity than genes. The value of cooperation lies embedded in the very fabric
of nature waiting to be exploited. Genes can utilize it through random mutation
structured by reproductive success, or animals like us can discover it by
learning about it.

If his argument seems to be just a bit too
neat, perhaps it is. Wright admits that there are more difficulties with his
thesis than he has bothered to enumerate, and that his terminology "has
been a bit loose" (p. 281). These weaknesses do not seem to concern him.
What he wants to do is to initiate a discussion, to argue that such questions
are not as wrong-headed as philosophers like Popper or Kant might have imagined.1
To an extent he has succeeded, but there remain several issues he fails to
address adequately. I will discuss two.

First, let us consider what Wright terms
"the weirdness of consciousness" (p. 323). He identifies the question
of consciousness with "the question of subjective experience in general"
(p. 307) and observes that "a truly scientific perspective shows
consciousness ... to be a profound and possibly eternal mystery" (p. 331).
Adopting "the hard core scientific view that consciousness is a mere
epiphenomenon, lacking real influence," Wright says: "If consciousness
doesn't do anything, then its existence becomes quite the unfathomable
mystery" (p. 307). "[If] subjective experience ... lacks a function;
it is redundant, superfluous" (p. 321). This is an insightful observation
and one that gives rise to exactly the right question. That Wright fails to give
an adequate account of such a mystery is unsurprising. To date no one has come
close, and Wright himself, by suggesting that the question may be shrouded in
eternal mystery gives us reason to suppose that he doubts anyone ever will.
Nevertheless, he recognizes that consciousness is key to the mystery of us and
is key to grasping the nature of our morality.

Second, there is the issue of what Wright
means when he talks of meaning. Though he admits to using less precision than he
might when addressing other questions, when it comes to defining what he means
by meaning, Wright tries to speak with some precision. He borrows his definition
for meaning from the philosophical pragmatist Charles S. Peirce who claimed that
the meaning of a message lies in the behavior it induces. However, Wright
qualifies Peirce's observation by advising us that the behavior induced must be
appropriate to the information in the message. By inserting
"appropriate" as a qualifier, Wright reminds us that information, if
it is not comprehended, can result in inappropriate behavior. It is also
true, though Wright does not say this explicitly, that the meaning of messages
can be misunderstood even if one grasps their information content. (For example,
poetry or allegory conveys information on one level and meaning[s] on others.)
Thus meaning cannot be reduced to behavior or even to information. Wright,
though he tips his hat in their direction, never really acknowledges either of
these problems, yet they illustrate why the chemical reactions initiated by DNA
and those stimulated in brains are fundamentally different. At the very least,
the former requires no comprehension, the latter does.2

William Dembski captured this problem very
neatly in his own review of Nonzero which appeared in the
August/September 2000 issue of First Things and was appropriately
entitled "The Limits of Natural Teleology." He points out that because
it leads to increasing complexity, Wright's "nonzero dynamic ...
confers a direction on biological and cultural evolution" (p. 47). Dembski
argues that the two are in fact quite different since intelligence would seem to
be required for the one but not for the other (p. 50). And there, Dembski says,
lies the problem with Wright's thesis: in an effort to avoid resorting to an
intelligent agency to account for design in biology, Wright puts inordinate
weight on natural selection (p. 51). However, I think the position adopted
by Wright is even more implausible than Dembski allows. If the same
mechanism that generates biological variety also generates cultural variety, if
consciousness is not required to explain the cunning variety in the biological
realm, and if mathematics, science, and technology are all on autopilot and
sending us toward a predestined end, then it is not easy to see how the world
would differ significantly from the way it is now were we unconscious
automatons. It is not only that Wright puts an inordinate weight on natural
selection to explain design in biology, he puts an inordinate weight on natural
selection to explain human culture as well, and in doing so he reveals the
problematic nature of thoroughgoing materialism.

Nonzero then is a long argument
that attempts to account for design in nature and even implicitly in human
culture without assuming an intelligent agency behind design. Though Wright
frequently refers to the Jesuit Pierre Teilhard de Chardin who combined his
religious and paleontological training in an effort to develop a Christianized
version of evolution, there is little to suggest that Wright was positively
influenced by the religious side of Teilhard de Chardin's thesis. Instead Nonzero
reads as though it was intended as a refutation of Teilhard de Chardin's theism.

One cannot finish Nonzero without
marveling again at how readily our universe lends itself to interpretation.
Confronted with it, we sense a profound enigma and cast about for plausible
solutions. They abound, and their abundance increases our sense of mystery. If Nonzero
did nothing more than add yet another teleological interpretation to the dozens
available, it would still be worthwhile. But it is also thought provoking, full
of information, and great fun to read.

Notes

1It is
interesting in this context that Wright rejects Popper but appeals repeatedly to
Kant's essay, "Idea for a Universal History with a Cosmopolitan
Purpose." He particularly likes Kant's reference to the "unsocial
sociability" of humans. The "Idea for a Universal History with a
Cosmopolitan Purpose" was an essay Kant published in 1784, three years
after he published his Critique of Pure Reason, a year before he
published his Foundations of the Metaphysics of Ethics, and four years
before his Critique of Practical Reason came out. In this essay and his
subsequent work, Kant strove to lay the foundations of an ethic that would stay
viable in the absence of transcendental imperatives. While it is true that Kant
remained drawn to the teleological perspective, even after he had done so much
to debunk it, it is also true that by and large he resisted its attraction and
that his philosophy is far more sympathetic to Popper's position than to
Wright's.

2At one odd
place Wright seems to touch on this in a very oblique way. Though he argues
repeatedly (indeed it is fundamental to his book) that cultural and genetic
evolution are aspects of the same phenomenon, he observes en passant while
discussing memes that cultural evolution in fact is quite different from genetic
evolution (p. 90). He is correct but for reasons that have nothing to do with
the speed or neatness of the respective processes.